Page 18 of Shipwrecked

We both laugh, somewhat deliriously.

“You wanting eye candy saved our lives,” Mary says, sobering. “Cillian got us all out of the cabin when the ship rolled, and he got us all onto the shore.”

I think again of the yacht falling away. Of Cillian staying outside as waves crashed over the deck instead of getting inside to safety.

Chapter Seven

Cillian

Mathieu, as it turns out, is excellent at climbing. Before I have the chance to start throwing rocks to knock the coconuts down, he’s scaled the tree and neatly plucked the largest ones.

“This one is for Jules.” Mathieu separates the biggest coconut from the handful we’ve collected. “And this one.” The second biggest. “And this one.” The third.

“Save one for me, if you don’t mind,” I say. I don’t mean it. I’m thirsty and hungry and sore, but if we were sharing one coconut between us all, then I’d make sure Jules got the lion’s share. He’s up and talking, but he’s unsteady on his feet, and several shades paler than yesterday.

Mathieu sets aside the tiniest one of the bunch. “For you.”

I glance from it to him, finding a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Appreciate it.”

Mathieu chuckles to himself. He has to undo his organisation as we bundle the coconuts in our arms and walk back towards the others.

“Do you know how to make a bag out of palm fronds? Or a—um, I don’t know the word in English. A cart?”

“I think anything in the ‘wheel’ variety is beyond my skill,” I say. “But a bag I could manage. Seán’s parents religiously watch Survivor, and they always make backpacks.” Though we won’t be here long enough to need anything like that.

I cast an eye over our surroundings. Bar the sister island, the horizon’s empty of anything but ocean. There’s no glint of sun on glass, or the sparkle of a white sail. The only things moving are those dark clouds. Seán is right; they’re coming our way. I focus once more on the beach, picking up my pace. I can see Jules standing in the distance.

“Are you scared?”

I glance at Mathieu and find him watching me. His eye contact is direct and honest. His teasing, light attitude has slid away. Mathieu stopping mid-hook-up to check if Jules was too drunk for sex flits through my mind. He stayed with me on the deck, despite the risk, and he’s been there every time I’ve turned around, volunteering his help.

I love initiative.

“Not now that Jules has woken up,” I say, his honesty drawing something similar out of me.

“I was scared,” Mathieu says. “But Jules is awake, and you make all of this”—he shrugs, hands full of coconuts—“manageable.” Mathieu looks at the ocean, tracking the thundering waves. “I freeze when I’m the one who has to be responsible. I end up doing nothing.”

“You’ve done far from nothing.”

His expression grows muddled. Pleased and doubtful both. A strange sound draws my attention away from him, down the beach.

Jules is on the sand, face buried in his hands. I drop the coconuts and sprint, crossing the distance between us in seconds. I fall to my knees and grip Jules’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? Is it your head? Your neck?”

Another strange sound drags my attention to Mary, who is bent double, clutching her stomach. Laughing. I pull Jules’s hands from his face. He’s not choking, but laughing the same way. The adrenaline drains out of me. I sink back on my heels, tipping my face towards the sky.

Mathieu passes me. “Scaredy-cat,” he whispers.

“What’s funny?” Mathieu sets down his coconuts in the centre of our makeshift camp. It’s not much of a “camp” per se, just a break in the treeline with a half-circle shape. Our discarded life jackets are piled just outside the treeline, a bright orange waypoint.

“Jules said—he said—” Mary is wheezing too much to answer.

“No, Mary said—” Jules breaks off in a fit of laughter.

Mathieu kneels next to Jules and leans over him. A grin tips up the corners of his mouth, creating dimples that Jules’s gaze catches on. “Tell me. I want to hear the joke too. You’re excluding me because I’m French.”

I raise a brow. Apparently, Mathieu isn’t going to let something small like a shipwreck get in the way of his flirting. Crisis averted, I gather the abandoned coconuts. Mathieu and I do several more trips until there’s enough for everyone. I learn very quickly that relegating Jules to camp to rest was useless.

He gets himself a sharp rock and has a growing mountain of fronds and vines gathered. I don’t want to think about the level of activity that went into collecting them. He can barely turn his head. There’s a pile of bamboo sticks, which Mary reassures me Yasop and Willow brought back under Seán’s instruction.